


Divine But Not Devout

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mr. Scratch is a dick to Alan, Serial Killer stuff, Tooth Pulling, Torture, mentions of unwanted kisses and contact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 18:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: Mr. Scratch has a lesson to teach Alan. Alan would rather go without it.





	Divine But Not Devout

**Author's Note:**

> IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT TAKE IT

The way this occurred was nothing new to the suited devil. The contact that was never invited came suddenly, shocking the writer in its tenderness, the presence overtaking him quicker than he had imagined. With a blurry mind, he could barely put together what had occurred, but he awoke in flickers same as the light in the room. When it finally came on, dirty in itself, filling up the room with unwanted yellow light. Alan could almost spit when he remembers the caress of the other’s mouth on his. The seeping of the darkness into him, intruding onto his body and breaking his down. Body aching from fresh bruises and injuries he must have faced when he was not entirely there. 

“Wakey, wake little Alan!” Mr. Scratch cheers as the knocks on a nearby surface that echoes. But Wake cannot force himself to look at the other, eventually however with squinted eyes that are in pain, he manages. After absorbing what he can of the sight, he looks away to reflect and analyze.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the champion of light tonight. His double stood tall, with a set of pliers in his hands.

“What do you want?” Alan muttered in despise.

“Just to play.” The reply came as nothing more than a joke.

Fear. It was strong. Pain was never liked by the writer, but it wasn’t commonly liked by many individuals. His mind raced at the possible things that could be done to him, evaluating his own strength just to anchor where the other stood before him. What damage he’d inflict.

Alan would run, he’d fight. But he was bound to the chair, in a matter that forbade movement. Stopped it, more accurately. The terror rose in him.

But to his horror, the worst of it all was the touch. Proximity to the Herald that was never wanted… But it occurred. More often than ever desired, more often than required. He climbed upon the writer, pressing onto his legs. Shuffling to come into more comfort, Mr. Scratch had no care in this array of movement. The double had plans in mind, intent, and mischief in his eyes. Alan could barely see it, as the distance made him uncomfortable, making him avoid meeting eyes, but the Herald would find no joy in that and grabbed his face. Pressing for eye contact.

Looking now, the two identical drops of rain, face to face to one another… It could almost reminds Alan of a simpler time, but this wasn’t it. What he has written he cannot un-write, it was time to reap what he has sown.

Out of the corner of his eye, the champion can see the other hand of the monster rise, the glimmer of the frame of the old pliers found somewhere. The terror reignites, stronger and stronger. Alan wants to ask again, what the other is gonna do but knows enough that the answer will not be proper.

As the metal object approaches the space between them and eventually settles on the writer’s lips, the Herald begins to talk. Regardless of if it was invited or not.

“Wake, you know… I read somewhere, and I know—a shock, I read… but the thing is. I read, that supposedly the olden belief somewhere that dreams of teeth falling out were regarded as a sign that someone—anyone—in your close circle were to die soon. I would like for you, to ruminate on that.”

The champion of light’s eyes widen in disbelief, fearing what this might mean, which only helps in that split second for force open his mouth. The tool quickly grabs onto his tooth, a fang and pulls on it with great force. It budges slightly but doesn’t move so the herald laughs while Alan’s breathing picks up its pace and he begins to make noises in protest and a call for help. 

With some wagging of the pliers, back and forth, the tooth comes loose enough from its roots and triumphantly, Mr. Scratch holds it up plain in the writer’s sight.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” A chuckle then on the smug face of the killer. “I’d say you're like a little dog now. A bite like yours will mean nothing.” The light laugh erupts and grows bigger, filling up every corner of the motel suite. Most likely breaking into the other rooms nearby, too, simply due to the thin walls of the building.

Throwing the tooth onto the ground and disregarding the blood erupting from the fresh wound, Scratch cocks his head as he moves to the opposite fang.

The terror of the night will continue, leaving the Champion of Light in a futile position. This game he plays with the Herald of Darkness is never-ending, but the damages inflicted on one another stand their ground here, in Night Springs.


End file.
